Requiem For The Truth
by TheMinxy6
Summary: Post-S2 fic: Arthur ponders on his manservant, Merlin; what are the secrets he holds, and what did ever happen with Morgana in the throne room? Slash free. M/M implied. Now with Merlin's POV in chapter 2!  A little fic to get us in the mood for series 3!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own a prince. Or any warlocks. :(

**A/N: **Hello everyone! Well, with the rapid approach of series 3, (one week! Woop woop!) I've been cranking the _Merlin_ fic muscles again! I actually wrote most of this a month or so back at the start of my _Merlin _marathon I had with my youngest sister, but I've only 'beefed' it up in the last few days! It's a post-S2 fic, set a few weeks after the dragon palaver (just to get us in the mood for S3!). I hope you enjoy it- this isn't a slashy fic, though if you squint and tilt your head a couple of lines have potential to be- it's more M/M really.

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**Requiem For The Truth**

_Camelot stands on the brink of destruction; no one can escape it. _

_Everything is closing in and immanent war is felt like prickles on the back of your neck. _

_ You will unite or you will fall._

Arthur picked up his armour, brushing his flaxen hair off his face in the morphed reflection of the silver surface. His brow suddenly furrowed, spotting a fleck of dirt under one of the chest plates, scratching it off with his short nails and flicking it away, huffing in annoyance to himself. _Merlin. . . _

He shook his head, placing the heavy metal back onto the table next the gleaming length of his sword and his bag packed full, before moving slowly past his bed. He leant against the wall of his window alcove, his hand on his chin as he wistfully stared out of the window; still no sign of Merlin.

The prince looked down at the destruction of the courtyard below, pieces of rubble staining the stone floor like ink splashes on parchment- the thick, grey snow of the fire's ashes only adding to the image of destruction beneath him.

Camelot could've been destroyed. But he'd stopped it; he'd killed the dragon.

He winced as he rolled his shoulder backwards, the throbbing ache of over-worked muscle burning for an instant as he squeezed his eyes shut. _Where the bloody hell is Merlin?_

Thoughts floated like clouds around his mind, his dark-haired manservant filling his vision momentarily, creasing his brows as he remembered that he'd not seen him all morning. Annoyance was briefly subsumed by worry, as he suppressed the quick, sinking ache in his chest when he realised that maybe he was hurt. . . he had a knack for getting himself into trouble.

Despite the prince's cool outer shell, he worried about Merlin, especially over the last few weeks with the loss of so many lives, Balinor included. When people died in situations like this, Arthur would always focus on the bigger picture- the death toll a blood stained number as his mind blocked out any thought or feeling that could weaken him; Camelot must be protected.

Merlin always dragged himself down it seemed, his heart torn apart by every single lost life, tears fallen over people he barely even knew. Increasingly, Merlin's sky blue, unjaded eyes would become clouded with grey, troubled and alone like the eyes of a dragon. They'd be flecked with all sorts of emotion, a wisdom that seemed incongruous with his appearance.

Sometimes as he sat beside his father in the throne room, he'd watch Merlin; Arthur would see him looking brokenly at Morgana's empty chair, the fear and the pain there drawing the breath from his body momentarily. Arthur had not asked what had happened between him, Morgana and Morgause as he'd been fighting a losing battle.

He had once chastised Merlin for his private meetings with Morgana, but he feared now that he had underestimated their connection; their relationship. The sorrow in his eyes was the same he used to sometimes see in Morgana's- a heart clenching, haunted look claiming her when he teased her as a child about her nightmares. The slightest mention of her now would make Merlin visibly wince; his mind a house in which she was the ghost.

Arthur would only catch those looks for a second, until Merlin found a smile in his pocket and nailed it to his face; it rarely reached his eyes.

The prince sighed a little to himself, moving over to his bed side and pulling out some spare cloth from a drawer and winding it steadily around his palm, only realising a few seconds earlier that the wound had reopened, the flesh raw and red. He moved back to the window and held up his hand to the pale light, the bandage squeezing at the pain.

_You're an enigma, Merlin._ He had said, and it only just hit him how true this really was. He knew so little about him, and in those few occasions where Arthur had opened up about himself, Merlin always managed to shy away; sometimes he managed to say something meaningful without somehow ever revealing anything about himself. His eyes were the crystal cages of his secrets.

_I'm an open book._

_I don't believe that for a second._

He thought perhaps his secrets were boyish, his little tricks and fancies. But Arthur had only recently realised that it wasn't just secrets he kept locked away, but a terrible isolation too. Although he was known as "Merlin, Prince Arthur's manservant", they both knew he was not that at all- Merlin was not defined by his serving role to the prince- Arthur knew intuitively that he was something much, much more. He gritted his teeth; he could never quite put his finger on it.

_Do you know how many times I've saved your royal backside?_

At the time he'd smirked it away, another jovial Merlin jibe poking him in the ribs, yet now it niggled away at his brain now like a hungry worm. Merlin was always there, wherever he was, protected by nothing other than the clothes on his back. The one person without the armour or the training always seemed to get through it all; Arthur had taken him to face the dragon with nothing but a sword. It hadn't struck him as ridiculous and utterly foolish at the time, but looking back on it. . . why did he?

To Arthur now, it seemed ludicrous that he'd take an unarmed servant with him into battle, yet he always seemed to get through unscathed. There was a peculiar safety, luck even, surrounding him, but the prince could not grasp what this was exactly.

Because although he could barely admit it to himself, he knew it was true; he cared about Merlin. He'd always been jealous of Gwen and Morgana's friendship, growing up he'd never held onto one servant for long- they could not bear the insufferable young, blonde prince for long- and he'd always kept that somewhat stoic edge with the knights. Although he now blamed his "arrogant prat" personality, as Merlin would say, for his lack of friends, he'd hoped he'd shed most of that now. Instead, he now felt like he was some sort of "trophy son", everyone respecting and praising, or "feeding his oversized ego" (Merlin, again), which was impenetrably frustrating.

Loneliness is a throne, he'd once thought, because although he had the admiration of hundreds, could he ever have true friends?

He hadn't thought so. Yet it was looking like a possibility now since someone actually had the guts to come along and challenge him. . . and call him a 'prat'.

Arthur liked to think he'd changed for the better though, much of which was down to Merlin. He was the closest thing he'd had to a friend- their dynamic emulating that of the playfully aggressive, teasing older brother and the twinkly-eyed, cheeky younger one.

_Brother?_ That metaphor had certainly crept up on him. _Connection. Blood. Trust. . . . _

He mentally swiped the thought away like it was a dark moth, one that had been lurking in the corner of his mind for a fair while. The corner of his heart.

It was soon forgotten though as Arthur couldn't help but let a half smile crook his lips as he spotted a flash of blue and red darting across the courtyard. He watched the dark haired boy look up into the dusty grey sky for a second, pausing as he advanced towards the castle steps. Arthur watched in curiosity as Merlin gazed upwards, the boy suddenly clenching his eyes closed and gripping his hair as if overwrought by some pain. The moment was soon over though as he turned quickly towards the heavy oak doors.

_Today_. Arthur decided, grabbing his bag and his sword, a foreboding slither creeping down his spine; today was the day he'd start to try and make everything right and clear.

_I want you to trust me._

_I want to find out the truth._

_The truth will set us both free._

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**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed that little one shot, it'd be lovely to hear what you all think! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Merlin. Which is a mighty, mighty shame. :(

**A/N:** Hello everyone! I've decided to add a Merlin POV to this fic now, just because it snuck up on me and wouldn't let me go! I hope you enjoy it- and please do review- lots of people favourite and alert my stories but leave nothing, it's always great to know which bits people particularly enjoy/dislike, as it helps me improve as a writer! :)

Also, I hope you all enjoy the series opener tomorrow! :D

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**Requiem For The Truth**

Merlin sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, blue eyes hiding behind pale lids. The subdued morning sun leaked through his small window, the distant twitter of birds the only other sound other than the warlock's breathing.

His heart was burning like an imploding sun. One day it would go out all together.

_Another day. Another lie._

Sickness rised in his stomach as everything that had culminated over the last few months hit him like a physical blow. His whole body shook as he tried to suppress hot tears from running down his cheeks; how had he ever been dealt this card?

His vision blurred, and he stared down at his hands as they trembled uncontrollably. Merlin had driven away nearly everyone he loved; he was tainted, the boy who everyone believed lived a happy and simple existence, was the omen of his own life.

Merlin rubbed his hands together hard, the rough skin of a servant scratching the other palm, a salty track running down his cheek. His eyes caught sight of the beautiful dragon on his bedside carved from pale wood, its head raised majestically.

He stretched his hand out for it, turning it in his fingers, a shudder running through him as he pressed it to his nose and lips, it tasted earthy, it tasted real, it tasted raw. . .

It tasted of magic.

His father's face swam into view, a man he had known for so little time, but felt akin to immediately. Their ease in each other's presence as they'd silently gathered wood together was like nothing he'd experienced before; their quiet acceptance, as if they'd known each other their entire lives. Merlin gritted his teeth bitterly. _We should have known each other our entire lives._

The presence of his father's gift coursed through his veins now, a bond between himself, his father and Kilgharrah that could never be broken. He was not just human now; whatever their souls were made of, they were all the same. . .

His reverie was broken as Gaius poked his head round the door, he asked if Merlin was ok, and he'd nodded and smiled half heartedly. His mentor saw what Merlin was holding delicately in his hands, nodding in understanding and quietly closing the door. He knew when Merlin needed time alone. Now was one of those times.

Every day he was grateful for Gaius, the only person in Camelot who knew the entire tale of his crazed existence. He'd listen to everything and anything, challenging his judgement and telling him to hold on just that one more second.

He'd suffered the cruel torture at the hands of Aridian due to Merlin's own stupidity. Merlin would've jumped into the flames to save the man who had become his father here. After the numbing fear of nearly losing Gaius, losing Freya so shortly after had nearly broken him. . . and then Morgana. . .

Merlin felt shame slither down his spine and settle in his stomach. Her spectre steadily crawling into his mind; a cascade of dark curls hiding her face from view, her piercing green eyes looking at him with such sadness and mistrust that he wanted to reach out and touch her. They were the same. They should still be the same. Together they had dwelled in the secret garden of Camelot, their powers as natural as the growth of a flower, yet hidden away from prying eyes.

He had locked her in their garden and left her, he thought she'd be safe if she was alone, but she had grown sad and lonely and weary.

_They're my people. . . they're like me._

She had escaped. And now they were parted forever. He was the sun and she was moon, separated by an entire world.

His lost affinity.

Merlin gently placed the dragon back on his table, his hand slowly dropping away from the tiny figurine. His eyes were glassy, red rimmed as he stared at the corner of his bedroom, the creamy blandness of the wall temporarily wiping his mind clean as he let out small, hiccoughing breaths. It was the morning and yet he felt exhausted, drained of all life as he coasted along.

He stood up, slowly dropping his shirt onto his shoulders and tying his neckerchief around the tender flesh of his throat. Arthur would be wondering where he was.

_Alright, I know I'm a prince, so we can't be friends. But if I wasn't a prince. . ._

_What?_

_Well then. . . I think we'd probably get on. _

_So?_

_So that means you can tell me._

It was moments like that when Merlin felt like everything he hid was going to burst out from him. A horrendous sadness ate away at him every time he avoided the ugly truth, a cowardice clenching at his heart and words dissolving on his tongue. Arthur had come to trust him so much, yet Merlin still shrouded himself in secrecy; the prince had spilled his heart over Gwen, and Merlin had been the one he'd chosen to entrust with the knowledge of it. Arthur had taken only Merlin with him to find Morgause- the voyeur as the flaxen haired boy had been briefly and painfully reunited with his mother. Merlin had been the one Arthur had asked to protect his father in the midst of slumbering chaos.

Arthur trusted Merlin unswervingly- whether he'd admit it or not. Merlin trusted Arthur with his life.

But not with his secrets.

_What would Arthur say? What would he do if he knew the truth?_

Merlin sighed to himself. _It would destroy our friendship- everything we'd ever built together. _

Doubt sat shredding itself into fine pieces that settled at the bottom of his chest. Deep down, Merlin knew Arthur was better than he, or certainly Gaius, gave him credit for.

_Merlin, whatever happens, you must not let Arthur know who this man is; Uther would view the son of a Dragonlord with the deepest suspicion._

Arthur may not have even told his father. Why had they presumed that conclusion? Merlin hoped that he'd been a good enough friend these past couple of years to hope that Arthur wouldn't just throw him away without a backwards glance. Merlin knew of their destiny; he wondered sometimes if Arthur sensed that they shared a fate.

Unlike Gaius, Merlin knew Arthur was no puppet of Uther. He had cut those pale strings some time ago.

Merlin left his chambers, walking through the courtyard heading towards the great double doors. He paused at the tops of the steps, searching the sky in case Kilgharrah had decided to make another show again. He had kept his word it seemed.

A searing pain struck his head all of the sudden, the two familiar voices of Morgause and Morgana dripping with venom reverberating around his mind. He closed his eyes, his breath silently escaping his lips as he clutched his hair.

The pain subsided, turning quickly towards the castle, one thought clear in his head: Arthur may be angry if he found out, he may even feel hurt, but Merlin could not imagine him sending him away. They had come too far.

_All I need to do is make a leap of faith._

_Trust yourself._

_Trust in Arthur._

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**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed it, please click the blue button with the speech bubble. ;) xxx


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